Oblivion
by IronCladGod
Summary: "For someone who's pretty observant, it's amazing how oblivious you're choosing to be." "Well, I'm no Sherlock Holmes. You might need to give me a little more to work with if you want me to pick up on what you're talking about."


**I'm back with something new! I know it's been ages since I last posted anything, but I'm blaming it on lack of inspiration and school. However, I needed to write Sterek. It's actually my first time writing Teen Wolf. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I will write a full length fic at some point. I don't want to say too much, so I'll let you get on with the actual story. Please review :)**

'_pck mtng in 20. gud chnce of dth if u dnt cum'_

Stiles groaned loudly, and honestly, he didn't know if it was the horror of a pack meeting or the fact that Scott thought removing most vowels from words constitutes as text talk. Either way, he'd much rather be spending his standard summer holiday Saturday sleeping in till lunch, eating curly fries and watching bad TV with his dad. But clearly, Derek hates him and _wants _to take all enjoyment out of his life by calling another meeting.

Rolling out of bed, Stiles threw himself in the shower, even though there wasn't really enough time. It was mainly because being in a room with werewolves that all have magnified senses tends to make you constantly aware of how you might smell. And Stiles knew he probably smelt like the locker room at school.

As to how he managed to get out the shower without slipping and killing himself, it would forever be a mystery. What was also a mystery was why he had no contacts left. Knowing the world was against him today, Stiles rooted through his drawers, searching for the old pair of dorky glasses that he puts a lot of time into avoiding, because who actually likes wearing glasses?

Normally, he'd just leave his hair, but it's summer, and Stiles usually lets it grow out, which is why he's stuck with sopping wet hair and approximately 11 minutes before he needs to be at Derek's house. Which is why he found himself racing out to his jeep with a beanie tugged over his head.

So, Stiles Master-of-Speed Stilinski was now breaking several speed limits whilst wearing a Captain America shirt that several sizes too small, a pair of old sweatpants, the world's most spectacularly unattractive glasses and a _damn beanie_. At 9 am on a Saturday morning.

"You're late," Derek said coldly as Stiles flung himself through the front door.

"And you're an asshole," he replied, scowling. "This better be good, or else I _will _be forced to kill you."

"You haven't had your coffee yet, have you?" Lydia asked.

"No. Wait, what? How could you tell?"

"It's pretty obvious," Isaac said, shrugging.

"Not you too," Stiles moaned. He didn't think it was _that _obvious.

"Is no one going to ask why Stilinski's wearing glasses?" Jackson demanded.

"I normally wear contacts, but I'm all out, so thank you, Captain Obvious for pointing that out to everyone," Stiles replied, glaring at Jackson.

"Shut up. I didn't get you here to bicker," Derek said loudly.

"Well what did you get us for, because I'm at a total loss to explain it," Stiles muttered.

3 hours later (well, more like 5 minutes, but no one's ever said Stiles doesn't exaggerate), Derek finally stopped talking, and Stiles had no idea what he'd said. He's pretty sure that at one point, he actually fell asleep standing up. Derek's meetings tend to have that effect on him.

"Stiles, I want to talk to you."

_Speak of the devil_, he thought grimly. "About?" he prompted.  
"I meant alone," Derek added, doing his signature glare at everyone left in the room.

"Are you planning on eviscerating me, because I don't think I'm up for that. Plus it's a little extreme considering I was only a couple of minutes late. And you know, I kinda like living, so I'd appreciate if you didn't."  
"Stiles."  
"Yes?"

"Stop talking."  
"Okay. Yes sir. I can do that."

"You're talking too much again," Derek cut in.

"Sorry. Nervous habit, you know?"  
"I make you nervous?"  
"Just a little. I think it might be the glare, and the muscles, and just the general alpha-ness," Stiles gabbled. "Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about? Because that's really starting to get at me."

"You smell different."

"You wanted to talk to me about how I smell? And you wonder why I call you a creeper."

"I meant you smell anxious. Are you really that scared of me?" Derek asked.

"Like I said, you are kind of scary," Stiles shrugged.

"I don't like you being scared of me," Derek said quietly.

"Sorry, I don't think I heard that right."  
"No, you heard me."

"Okay..."

It suddenly occurred to Stiles that this was probably the longest conversation he'd had with Derek that hadn't involved some sort of insult flying his way.

"Would you care to explain what the hell you're actually talking about right now, because I really am stumped."  
"For someone who's pretty observant, it's amazing how oblivious you're choosing to be," Derek sighed.

"Well, I'm no Sherlock Holmes. You might need to give me a little more to work with if you want me to pick up on what you're talking about," Stiles said, whipping out that trusty humour that he tried to use to get himself out of awkward situations.

When Derek practically _lunged _at Stiles, no one could blame him for almost having a panic attack. But his surprise then was nothing compared to the rooting shock he felt when Derek kissed him. Derek Hale was kissing _him_.

"Have I made things clear enough?"

"I think so..."

"You think?"  
"Yeah, you might need to help me out a little bit more. Just so I fully understand."

"Or I could take you out for breakfast."

"I'd like that.


End file.
